Unspeakable Read Online Free PDF Page B

prison break, sure. But that had only been the catalyst. There was something inside himself that kept bringing him back here at intervals over the years. He had tried to forget the connection, tried to outrun it, but it always overtook him. More specifically, he carried it with him wherever he went.
    His travels had exposed him to different religions. He had sampled peyote with a shaman from one of the tribes in Arizona who believed the gods spoke through drug-induced visions. He had caddied one summer for a golfing rabbi who had talked to him about God's covenants and the promised Messiah. He had discussed the gospel with a group of Christian seminary students at an outdoor rock concert.
    All had believed wholeheartedly that something greater than themselves was directing their destiny. Something greater than themselves was at least helping them choose the right path. Jack didn't know which religion was valid, or if any of them were. He couldn't imagine a God who was omniscient enough to create the cosmos only to direct the lives of men with such petulance and caprice. The reason for natural disasters escaped him. He didn't comprehend why bad things happened to good folk, or why mankind was forced to suffer pestilence and famine and war. He wasn't so sure about the whole concept of redemption, either. But he knew that sin was real enough. And so was the guilt that went with it. Call it providence, or fate, or God, or just plain conscience. Something—a will greater than his own—had compelled him to leave his present circumstances and come here when he heard the news that Carl Herbold was on the loose.
    What would happen next was anybody's guess. Jack himself didn't know. Even as he'd driven beneath the iron arch he hadn't known what he was going to say or do when he got here. He had no concrete plan. He certainly hadn't counted on meeting a woman and child in the driveway of Delray Corbett's place. From this point forward, he would roll with the punches, react to events as they occurred.
    In any event, the die would be cast seconds from now.
    Spotting the rancher down on one knee struggling with a contrary strand of barbed wire, Jack hesitated only a moment before cupping his hands and calling out, "Mr. Corbett?"
    CHAPTER FIVE

    S tartled to hear his name, Delray Corbett turned and saw Jack walking toward him. Reluctantly, he came to his feet. He stood about five feet ten inches, a man in his midsixties, with a comfortable middle-aged softness around his waist, stocky legs, and a stern countenance. His displeasure upon seeing a stranger in his pasture was evident. Jack tried not to let the man's frown discourage him.
    "Mr. Corbett," he said again, extending his hand. "Jack Sawyer." Markedly unrushed, Corbett removed his right glove and shook Jack's hand in an obligatory way. From beneath the bill of his dozer cap he regarded Jack with unfriendly eyes. Jack tipped his head toward the fence. "Heard some steers knocked down a section of your fence."
    "Where'd you hear that?"
    "From your grandson." He pointed to Corbett's forearm, where a long nasty scratch was still bleeding slightly. "Catch some barbed wire?"
    Corbett made a disinterested swipe at the scratch. "It's nothing. Where did you run into my grandson?"
    "Up at the house."
    "You tried to talk to them?" he asked angrily. "Damn it. I already told you people I don't know anything. Leave us alone."
    "Pardon? Look, Mr. Corbett, I don't know who you're mistaking me for." That was a white lie. Delray Corbett would be among the first to be contacted about Carl Herbold's prison break. Apparently law enforcement agencies had already been in touch with him. He was resentful of the intrusion. Or worried about the repercussions. Both were valid reactions.
    "Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong," Jack assured him. "I only talked to your family because your daughter-in-law was having some trouble with her car." Corbett glanced toward the house with concern.
    Jack said, "It didn't